


The Mute

by susieboo



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Canon, Child Abuse, Death, Depression, Drabble, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Muteness, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susieboo/pseuds/susieboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Dean was twelve when he saw the explosion that killed his mother. When those walls went crumbling down, so did he. Unable to speak except inside his head, J.D. is now left to fend for himself with a father who doesn't give a shit. (pre-canon drabble)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mute

J.D. had heard of ways other people coped with their grief.

Some people wrote. J.D. tried that and ended up snapping two pencils in his hand and throwing a third at the wall.

Some people ran. J.D. tried that before he realized he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.

Some people visited the loved one's graves and talked as if a real, living person were there, not a piece of cold, crumbling stone. J.D. supposed that might of helped, but that wasn't much of an option for him for two reasons.

  1. Megan Dean had left no body behind, so rather than having a proper burial, her headstone had been put up in her hometown in Illinois. "Big Bud" and J.D. were currently in Las Vegas.
  2. J.D. hadn't managed to say a word to anyone since the fateful day he watched a library come crumbling down like an avalanche of concrete and brick.



Bradley Dean didn't talk to his son much as it was, so he barely noticed that the now-thirteen year old hadn't spoken in a year. This didn't surprise J.D. much. Really, it had taken awhile for him to notice himself. It wasn't as though he talked to many people at school - and the ones that did considered his silence to be a vast improvement.

It had been three months before it occurred to J.D. that he hadn't actually said anything in months, but he didn't bother to try to force a sound from his lips. He never saw much point in talking unless there was someone to talk  _to_. He would  _not_  become one of those psychos that talked to themselves. (Obviously, talking to a hamster was totally different.) He never took a vow of silence or anything - silence just seemed like a natural state of being to him right now.

It was a morning in late June, somewhere in Virginia, almost a year to the day. One more week and it would be. J.D. remembered this. He doubted his father had.

"You haven't been giving me nearly as much shit as you usually do, Jason," Bradley said, pouring vodka into his scrambled eggs. (Even when he felt like talking, J.D. would've known better than to comment.) "What's gotten into ya?"

J.D. didn't say anything. He just continued poking at the admittedly-dry scrambled eggs he'd attempted to make. There were only so many mornings of microwave oatmeal a man could take.

Bradley shoved his shoulder, probably rougher than he realized. "Jason. Jaaaaaasooooooooooooon," he said, as if speaking to someone who was very dimwitted. 

J.D. glared at him.

"How long you been not talking to me, boy?"

"..."

"Well? Answer me!"

"..."

"It's been since your mom died, hasn't it? Look, Jason, I'm gonna level with you - man to man talk."

Oh,  _fuck no_. J.D. got up and began clearing his plate into the trash. He'd much rather skip a meal than hear whatever Bradley Dean had to say about--

"It's been a year, kiddo. I know you loved her, I did too, but you've got to move on with your life. You're a Dean! You can't just keep on grieving like a weak-ass p--"

"Shut up." J.D.'s voice was raw and croaky from disuse, but quiet and cold. The thirteen year old boy stood with his back to his father, having just spoken the first words in nearly a year.

These words would set the tone for their relationship for the rest of J.D.'s (short) life.

" _What did you just say to me_?!"

J.D. didn't have time to ponder the future, however. When your life consisted of dodging a blow to the face from your old man and ducking out the back door, you were sort of forced to live in the moment.


End file.
